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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200695">Too Tired to Ask, but Not to Receive</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoMyBreadsticks/pseuds/OhNoMyBreadsticks'>OhNoMyBreadsticks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bathing/Washing, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Canon Universe, Caring Jaskier | Dandelion, Comfort Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Podfic &amp; Podficced Works, Praise Kink, Stress Relief, Tooth-Rotting Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 14:55:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200695</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoMyBreadsticks/pseuds/OhNoMyBreadsticks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the world is too much for a Witcher to bear. Alone, Geralt would find himself upset, angry, and overwhelmed. Luckily, he's not alone any more. </p><p>And his bard knows just what a high-strung Witcher needs to relax: a hot bath and a good fucking.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>489</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Too Tired to Ask, but Not to Receive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ta-da!! I return to the Witcher fandom with some more self-indulgent bottom Geralt! Look, all I want for this sad man is that he gets all the cuddles, care, and dick he could ever want. So I'm going to give it to him!! Via Jaskier of course lol.</p><p>I hope you enjoy this fluffy little piece of smut C:</p><p>As always, my incredible angel of a beta is <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/thislittlekumquat/pseuds/thislittlekumquat">thislittlekumquat</a> &lt;3 &lt;3 She also helped with the title, because the original google doc was just called "Geralt Can Get It" lmao</p><p>Update: If you would like to listen to this piece instead of reading it, it's been recorded into a <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518609">lovely podfic</a>!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sometimes the weight of it all just got too heavy for Geralt to bear. Not that he ever noticed it himself, no. He was so used to shouldering any burden that the concept of being overwhelmed never even crossed his mind. Too many years alone on the road had taught him that if he couldn’t manage something, he would simply be crushed by it. It wasn’t like there was anyone there to help him when he hit a metaphorical wall. Or a physical one, after being thrown bodily through it by whatever monster the townsfolk weren’t paying him enough to kill. Just another day, just another pile of shit Geralt had to scrabble his way through.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whenever things got bad, it wasn’t Geralt who noticed, but the people around him. Usually taciturn and straightforward, his sparing words would turn acidic and biting. Anger directed at whoever was closest, cruel quips he would not usually speak out loud, Geralt became a person who was genuinely difficult to be around. Everything just felt more difficult than it should be to him, and the extra effort he had to expend tired and annoyed him further. The whole process is cyclical and dangerous, making him lose his practiced edge in combat if left for too long.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the past, the cycle would end one of two ways. Either Geralt would lose his temper in some spectacular fashion and blow off steam in a bar brawl or a bandit attack, or he’d get injured and be forced to take some time off to rest and recuperate. Both methods left Geralt none the wiser as to what he had been feeling prior to that, or how he might avoid becoming overburdened in the future. Because the White Wolf simply wasn’t the type of man to back down from a challenge or five if it meant he got his coin (and innocent lives were spared).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But now, now there was Jaskier. That incredible personification of persistence himself, the bard who saved the Butcher of Blaviken. Jaskier, who had managed to worm his way into Geralt’s life in ways that no one had managed to do before, and, more impressively, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stayed there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. When he wasn’t right at Geralt’s side he was waiting for him in the inn they were staying at, playing his songs to earn them coin for a warm meal. The reassurance of something to return to was something Geralt hadn’t realized he had always yearned for, and he usually couldn’t resist a ghost of a smile when he stepped into the inn and heard his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today, though, Geralt’s head felt like it was filled with static, and every stray thought or noise caused him to wince and scowl. The world was too bright, this inn was too loud, and he positively reeked of drowner blood and foul marsh water. His expression must have been murderous enough to push back the initial wave of gawkers, as the crowd parted before him and he stalked towards the stairs that led to the private rooms of the inn with a low growl. There was a discordant jangle of lute strings and suddenly Jaskier was at his side, flitting about him like he always did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geralt, darling, you’re filthy! Are you hurt? Actually, don’t answer that, you’re never honest. Just come here, let’s get you out of this armor.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His chatter, usually a soothing background hum, was enough to make Geralt growl in annoyance. Why did he have to explain himself to this uppity little human? It was ridiculous that he would even consider letting himself get bossed around by a fucking bard. Jaskier, however, seemed unfazed, simply tutting softly at the growl and pushing and prodding Geralt into the room they had rented together. His hands were oddly strong, although Geralt could have shrugged him off at any moment. He didn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a tub sitting by the fireplace, and Jaskier was saying something about water being brought up, but first Geralt needed to get out of his gear and ready for a bath. Cursing under his breath at the extra step, he began to fumble at the buckles and belts that held his armor and weapons in place, fingers unusually clumsy even for after a fight. Before he could get truly frustrated and start cursing though, Jaskier pushed his hands away with a gentle shushing noise. </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Let me do that,” he soothed, and although Geralt grit his teeth he nevertheless allowed the invasion of his personal space. It wasn’t as though this was the first time Jaskier had undressed him, and not even the first time he had done it in such a non-sexual context. Huffing out short breaths through his teeth to calm his temper, Geralt stood still (still or trembling, it was hard to tell) as piece by piece his gear came off and joined the messy pile on the floor. The thought of having to deal with that cleanup later only made him angrier, but before he could snap at Jaskier for setting his swords down incorrectly he was suddenly naked and being pushed towards the steaming bath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When had the bath water been delivered? When had Jaskier gotten his boots off? The world was a rush of annoyances, and Geralt couldn’t keep track of all of them. The hot water though, that was the first thing that hadn’t bothered him, and he sank into it with a genuinely grateful groan. The heat soaked into his tired muscles, and the gentle scent of chamomile triggered an almost pavlovian response - that was the smell of being taken care of, the smell of gentle fingers and even gentler kisses. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that was exactly what Jaskier was delivering now, his hands covered in lather already sliding across Geralt’s shoulders and down his chest. Dirt and grime, sweat and gore, none of it stood a chance against his attentive fingers, and soon enough Geralt was both far more clean and far more relaxed than when he had entered the tub. As defenseless as this position was, he should really have been more on his guard. But time and time again, Geralt had trusted Jaskier not to betray him, and the bard had been nothing but true in his attentions. He left Geralt better than he found him every time, a feat which was quite impressive given the amount of damage and dirt he regularly found himself covered in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And now for my favorite part.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s cooing voice broke through the fog of Geralt’s mind, and he suddenly realized that the bard had been talking softly the whole time. He just hadn’t quite registered it yet, but it certainly hadn’t been bothering him as much as he would have expected. Feeling almost groggy and absolutely not ready to talk himself, Geralt raised his head to shoot Jaskier a curious look, one eyebrow crooked up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your hair, of course, darling!” Jaskier replied, his smile so fond that Geralt had to look away. It was too much to deal with right now, the soapy surface of the water was far less taxing for his overloaded mind. Seemingly unbothered, and without any pause or hesitation, Jaskier proceeded on to washing Geralt’s hair. It was a process, none of the harsh scrubbing and tugging that Geralt had done on his own. No, first Jaskier combed it out with his fingers, the tangles and knots yielding to him just like the knots in Geralt’s muscles. Then he rinsed the dirt and gore out as best he could, before lathering the white strands up with some gentle shampoo. Nothing too scented, not since he had learned of just how sensitive his witcher’s nose was. Now, Geralt was treated to just a hint of daffodil and fresh grass, the smell of spring as he’d never experienced it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once he was satisfied with the lather, Jaskier turned his attention to Geralt’s scalp, and oh what lovely attention it was. It was difficult to remember just what had had him so angry when there were pleasant tingles shooting up and down his spine. Without thinking, he tipped his head back, reveling quietly in the sensation for just a few moments. Jaskier made a soft sound and bent forward to press a kiss to his soapy forehead, chuckling at the sensation. Geralt let his eyes slip closed, the last of the anger draining away and leaving him simply feeling restless. Restless and boneless somehow at the same time, once Jaskier was done massaging every single inch of his scalp and down his neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Standing up out of the tub and being dried off passed in a similar blur to being undressed, Geralt calmly allowing Jaskier to flit around him and lift his limbs to dry his skin. For the first time in weeks he didn’t have to be alert, didn’t have to be on edge. It was surprisingly satisfying to let his brain sink into the fog of each gentle touch against his newly cleaned skin. Geralt could feel the way that Jaskier’s fingers probe and prod at the sites of his most recent injuries, checking for infection or other side effects. If he doesn’t flinch at the touch, Jaskier moves on, satisfied that it isn’t worth cajoling him into accepting treatment for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Relaxed as he is, Geralt still can’t quite seem to find it in himself to be tired, even as Jaskier guides him to the bed and lays him out on it - like a doll, or a prized pet, his hair brushed and fanning out around him on the pillow. He should be exhausted after days and days of hunting, and the massage and soothing bath oils have definitely taken the edge off his anger, but there’s still something wrong. Something </span>
  <em>
    <span>too much</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like an energy under his skin that he can’t quite seem to shake. He’s starting to buzz with it again, and it makes him grit his teeth as he stares up at Jaskier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And what a sight he is to stare up at, after all. Jaskier in his chemise, doublet discarded to save it from the bathwater, his cheeks red from the steam and his mouth quirked into an expression that’s unbearably fond. It’s too much again, and Geralt looks away, fighting the desire to ask for something. Ask for what, he has no idea, but Jaskier does. Somehow, the bard knows more about him than he ever thought possible, and definitely more than anyone else has ever managed. Or perhaps that was just because he never lets anyone in close enough. Geralt doesn’t want to think about that right now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, I’ve got you. I know what you need, my wolf,” Jaskier says, humming to himself as he begins to strip off his clothes. Geralt hears it rather than sees it, his eyes still stubbornly trained on the ceiling as opposed to on his bard. It’s a waste, really, because he’s not getting the treat of seeing Jaskier’s body slowly come into view, each inch of creamy skin a new delight. But he can’t handle it now, not with this restless mood still gripping his mind tighter than a vice. So instead Geralt has to handle an entire lapful of naked bard as Jaskier nudges his legs apart and settles in between them, happily caressing his thighs. His skin is still soft from the bath oils, as are Jaskier’s hands, and the slide is overwhelmingly pleasant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A thought is trying to nag its way into Geralt’s brain, a request he wants to make, but Jaskier is shushing him before he can struggle to get it to his mouth. There’s no need to speak when he knows the answers already. Their lips meet in a gentle press that quickly turns desperate, Geralt surging up for more as he licks his way into Jaskier’s mouth. The feeling of this kiss is enough to start his cock stirring where it’s trapped between them, and Jaskier is clearly pleased with this, rocking their hips together without warning. Before Geralt can do much more than moan at the quick burst of pleasure, Jaskier is sitting back on his haunches and reaching for a bottle he had spirited onto the bedside table without Geralt noticing. Not that he has noticed much since he set foot inside their room in the inn, and gods above what a blessing that’s been.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s intent becomes clear as he slicks his fingers up and slowly teases them between Geralt’s legs, letting the oil drip wherever it pleases as he makes his way to his hole. For being such a fastidious man in every other aspect of his life, Jaskier likes a bit of a mess when it comes to sex, and Geralt can never quite find it in him to complain. There’s always something distracting him, like now, as two perfect fingers slip slowly inside of him, the stretch just the right side of too much. Jaskier knows how to play his body like his favorite lute, and this is no exception. They’ve been together long enough for him to know that one finger will just earn him complaints and a fussy Witcher.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As it is, Geralt lets out his first proper moan of the evening, a low soft sound that somehow quiets the energy bursting under his skin. It’s so much easier to relax when it's for a prize, knowing that the faster he lets Jaskier in, the sooner he’ll be rewarded with the stretch he actually craves. It isn’t long before he’s whining and twisting to try and get more, but Jaskier is feeling merciful tonight. Instead of making him wait he slides a third finger inside, gently thrusting them in and out before crooking them in </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> the right way to have pleasure racing up Geralt’s spine. He isn’t sure when he began to pant, but the sound of his breaths has joined the low murmur of Jaskier’s voice in filling the silence of the room, two sounds that are both ever-present in his life now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time Jaskier decides to move on, Geralt’s cock is making a mess of his stomach, leaking in anticipation. His whole world has focused down to pleasure now - no thoughts, no tension, no blank empty space in his mind. Just Jaskier, and the way his cock stretches Geralt open as he slowly slides forward. He’s gripping Geralt’s thighs to lift him into the angle he wants to enter in, and what a wonderful angle it is. Not enough to nail his prostate on the first slow thrust, oh no, but enough to have him whining softly in the back of his throat at how it just brushes past. He wants so much more, wants Jaskier to move right away, but knows that he won’t. Geralt could grab him and easily reverse their positions to take what he needs, but he doesn’t. Maybe on another night, but not on this one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tonight, Geralt simply lays back, hands clutching at the freshly laundered sheets, and lets Jaskier pleasure him. It’s what the bard’s been doing all evening, stripping away his stress and his pain and replacing it with nothing but relaxation and pleasure, and suddenly Geralt is aware of it all. It makes his heart stutter, the weight of all that care, but before he can tangle up in his own thoughts Jaskier is tipping his hips up and changing the angle and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh yes</span>
  </em>
  <span> there’s the feeling he needs. Now each thrust is drawing a sound out of his throat, unbidden and uncontrolled, but he wouldn’t stop even if he could. Not when it feels so good, and not when Jaskier is praising him for it. Geralt can’t quite understand the words right now, but he knows the tone of voice that gets used for praise, and it melts across his senses in the most wonderful way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There have been times where Jaskier will try to push Geralt, try to make him come as quickly as he can despite his fabled Witcher stamina, and there have been times where he will try and drag that stamina out for as long as possible. Both have been pleasant, but tonight is neither of those extremes. Geralt feels his peak building naturally, the waves of pleasure heightening in the quickening of his pulse and the tightening of his muscles. And maybe it shows on his face or in the way he clenches desperately against Jaskier, but suddenly there’s an oil slick hand on his cock and a whisper of wordless encouragement and then -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The world goes blessedly still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s limbs no longer feel as if they need to move, the restless energy completely gone. He’s boneless beneath Jaskier even as he jerks his hips a few last times and stills as well, release spilling hot inside of Geralt. It’s absolute bliss, better than any thrill of the hunt or bath or massage. Perhaps not better than the feeling of how Jaskier smiles after they kiss, or how his fingers tangle in Geralt’s hair the first time they embrace after a long time apart. But for now, it’s the best feeling in the world. He doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until Jaskier wakes him with a warm cloth against his skin, wiping away the mess they’ve made together. He should be embarrassed or ashamed, but can’t muster up the energy to feel any more negative emotions. Jaskier’s managed to lift that weight completely off his shoulders, at least until the morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To lift such a weight all on his own is quite a feat, but then again, Jaskier has never been one to stick to the ordinary. Geralt would ponder just what he’s accomplished tonight, but when he has the bard’s warm body tucked against him and those soft lips pressing lazy kisses against his neck, thought has less appeal. Sleep beckons, and Geralt has all the time in the world to think about Jaskier. Perhaps he will do it tomorrow then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All the time in the world is, after all, just enough time to give to a man as special as Jaskier.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Any kudos or comments at any time are loved and cherished &lt;3</p><p>I'm also available on <a href="https://ohnomybreadsticks.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> if you ever feel like chatting or reading some of my lil drabbles, I’d love to see you there C:</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518609">Too Tired to Ask, but Not to Receive [podfic]</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litrapod">litrapod (litra)</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
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